


knock on my door (have my heart)

by Vilna



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Meetings, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sharing a Bed, Trans Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22073566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilna/pseuds/Vilna
Summary: When there's a knock on Keith's front door, he knows immediately his soulmate has finally found him.written for Sheith Secret Santa 2019. ♥
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 78





	knock on my door (have my heart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/gifts).



> Happy New Year, Lunarium! I'm your secret santa this year and I wrote this silly little fic as a gift for you. I'm really nervous posting this, as I've never taken part in any kind of event so I really hope you enjoy it, at least a little. :-)
> 
> I've never had the courage to write a trans character before, due to being cis myself, but it was one of your favourite things to read about so here goes nothing! As the rating is only M, the sex scene isn't really that graphic and the descriptions of Keith's parts are kept (mostly) vague, but he has not had a bottom surgery yet.
> 
> kudos & comment make my day as always! ♥

**i.**

The winter has been surprisingly shallow this year. The snow is already by its death door even if it’s only halfway through December and the birds haven’t needed the feeders Keith had to fill every morning last year. The deer still suffer from the frost, though, so Keith brings hay deep into the thick forest for them, since they still don’t get near his cabin.

The night is young but the hour isn’t as Keith drinks black coffee by the fireplace, lost in these sort of thoughts while he pets his giant wolfdog, whose fur is soft under his fingertips. Keith gives him his own raisin cookie after a few pitiful whines, Kosmo has always been partial to them. Keith smiles, without remembering better, and cringes immediately afterwards, face rigid and stone like.

The clock ticks but sleep hasn’t come so he has decided to stay up until morning for the hell of it, drinking caffeine like it’s water in a desert. He’s feeling a little uneasy, has felt the whole day -- more so than usual, that is. The Mark is deep inside his bones, making him shiver from feeling cold despite the flames illuminating his skin with its glow. Keith aches. It’s deep and inexplainable, unraveling through his body in waves. It’s almost like a migraine but inside his mind. The ache is only psychosomatic. Or so they claim, at least.

Keith chokes down a sigh. Most of the time he doesn’t even believe in this kind of shit but his thoughts always wander back to them, mostly because he’s often lonely despite claiming himself otherwise. It has always been like this, he doesn’t know what life is like without a constant pain as a reminder.

And this is the moment, during these thoughts and this ache, is when Keith’s soulmate knocks on his door.

He knows right away it’s them, there’s not even a question in his mind. And It’s not even because he doesn’t have visitors, ever, and it’s not because Kosmo hardly raises his head from the rough carpet, it’s not because Keith’s heart starts to rise a hundred miles in a minute. 

No. It’s because he sees the memories.

It’s said to happen when you see your soulmate for the first time. You see the significant events of their lives leading to this point and this point is supposed to change your whole meaning in this wretched world.

The memories are fast and mostly a blur as Keith views them, they all come at once and he can only make out faces with no meaning, voices without words and unrecognisable places. Keith closes his eyes to protect himself from the hurricane of emotions in them but it does little to help.

There’s laughter and pain, happiness and sorrow, tears and smiles, he sees it all. Keith just can’t place them, can’t really make any sense of them. They say it’s supposed to happen later when you know your mate inside and out -- then you get to see their past as clear as the morning light. It’s some sort of gift in a way, a gift you have to earn.

But now, Keith still sees through his soulmates eyes and without a doubt so do _they_ , on the other side of Keith’s cabin’s front door. It’s weird to think of -- to have some stranger intrude his mind without his consent. Keith has always been a private person, which should be obvious about the fact that he lives in the woods in the middle of nowhere with a wolfdog as his only companion.

It quietens after a couple of long, long minutes of emotional traffic. Keith opens his eyes again, the visions gone for now. They will come back for later. If Keith will ever find the courage to open his fucking door to this stranger who’s knocking again, loud and insistent.

Keith’s heart hammers inside his ribs. His throat feels rough and dry, his feet are tattooed on the floor. When his soulmate starts banging with his fist Kosmo lifts his head up to look at Keith. They never, ever have visitors and Kosmo is just a dog but he’s calmer than Keith himself.

Keith takes a few steps towards the door. His mother’s knife is sharp in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Who’s there?” he asks as if he doesn’t already know.

The banging stops and Keith can hear the wind again. His soulmate behind the door coughs loudly.

“Umm.”

There’s a pause and Keith’s eyebrows start to rise slowly as it keeps stretching.

“Yes?” he prompts, licking his lips against the dryness in the air.

“It’s me?” A longer pause. “Umm. Shiro?”

Keith shoots Kosmo a look. Keith probably imagines the shrug Kosmo gives him in return.

Keith bites his lower lip. His ears ring. “Shiro who?”

“Shirogane? I mean Takashi is -- it’s my first name? Shiro is what everyone calls me, though.”

Everything feels like question with them. The wooden floor murmurs in annoyance under his feet as Keith takes the needed steps to reach the door and pulls his knife out. Just in case, he tells himself.

These words are a bit too sharp: “What do you want?”

“Well.” Keith’s soulmate coughs. “For starters… I’d like to come in if that’s okay with you.”

Keith swallows. Kosmo just yawns behind him. “Why?” 

“Umm, It’s a bit cold in here and if I’m completely honest, I’m not a big fan of the woods. It’s very… dark. And I swear I heard a wolf howling on my way here. Not a fan of those, either, which I’m sure you can imagine.”

Something about this not-stranger’s voice stretches Keith’s mouth corners without his consent. His soulmate’s voice is deep and rough, it shivers from the winter with a touch of humour in the undertone. It’s also seems to be... _kind_. Like this man, for it’s obvious now that’s the case, is someone worth something.

Keith shakes his head to get rid of the thoughts drilling his mind. His heartbeat rises as Keith prepares himself to open the door, despite not feeling exactly comfortable doing so. But he also knows the Mark, _supposedly_ , doesn’t lie. But Keith has never been sure of what to believe or not, he’s forged his own truths before this day and doesn’t know how to accept unknown ones.

“I’m opening the door,” Keith says, probably regretting it later, “don’t try anything funny. I have a knife,” he warns, just in case, reading himself for an attack, even if it will be fairly unlikely.

“I wouldn’t even dare,” the guy says just as Keith turns the door handle to unveil his very own soulmate, the nervous energy of this exact moment, makes his slow breaths shatter their rhythm.

The first thing Keith sees is a chest covered in an excessively warm coat, way too thick for a weather like this. Also, he’s very… tall. At least a head taller than Keith himself, maybe a little bit less without his boots. Keith swallow, willing to get the courage to look up.

There’s a deep smile as Keith finally lifts his head to search the other man’s face. Shiro, Keith remembers the name, is beaming down at him, pale eyes are shining with gentleness and something aching to kind amusement. He’s handsome, even Keith can admit that; winter colored hair and a mile long, sharp jawline. In addition to the coat, he’s wearing a fluffy scarf wrapped around his neck, lambswool mittens and a smile made out of this universe.

Keith gulps, throat dry as sand. The back of his neck burns bright.

“H-hello?” Keith says intelligently as his lonely heart behind his ribcage starts a race. The Mark scribbled on the skin over his collarbone burns like fire.

“Hi,” Shiro says back, expression knowing and a tiny bit smug. For a moment they just stare at each other. Keith takes a few deep breaths and can just scent cinnamon and the coffee he drank earlier. He closes his eyes and only opens them when Shiro coughs into his fist.

“Do you… do you want to come in?” Keith asks and rubs the skin underneath his nose hoping the snow would be deep enough to drown in. His lips are probably bitten enough to be red.

“I’d like that,” Shiro says, easy and gentle for Keith like they’ve known each other forever.

Keith takes a step back to let the man in to his home, an action he will never come to regret.

**ii.**

They drink coffee in an unresting silence with Kosmo’s low snoring in the background.

Kosmo didn’t seem to mind Shiro, only wagged his tail a few times when Shiro leaned down to scratch his snout with the back of his knuckles, his eyes crinkled and cheeks flushed from the cold. Kosmo’s trust is hard to earn, Keith knows that from his own experience, yet he immediately felt safe with Shiro. It’s weird and doesn’t help Keith’s mixed up feelings about this bizarre, giant man sitting in front of him, drinking coffee from a mug too small for his hands and gazing at Keith with completely genuine eyes, undoubtedly waiting.

The Mark hasn’t stopped aching but the pain is only dull now, easily to be ignored. Yet Keith’s focus lingers. Shiro’s lips are bowed in a smile and the clock on the wall wastes seconds Keith tries not to count with his restless mind.

He has never felt this awkward in his whole fucking life.

“So,” Keith starts with no idea where to go from there.

Shiro is definitely no help as his beam only widens further, eyes shining in the low light of Keith’s small cabin. The wind yells outside, its noise shaking the roof loudly enough to make Shiro jump a little on his seat. It’s warm enough inside, though, at least for the moment. In his bed, Keith is always cold.

“Umm,” Keith tries again.

“Yes?” Shiro is so damn eager for him, it’s kind of sweet. Keith’s heart misses a few beats, the new rhythm weird and unknown. It feels like it’s trying to match Shiro’s own.

“So, you’re my…” He can’t say it, physically can’t. It’s too much.

Shiro nods, the smile on his face shaping into a tender one. He scratches the back of his neck with his huge, scarred hand. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Shiro wore a well loved wool sweater under his winter clothing and a pair of dark, fitting jeans. IThe sweater is faintly red and stretched out over his massive chest -- it would be giant and so, so warm on Keith. A thing to keep the cold abay at night.

Keith bites his lower lip in consideration before gulping down half of his coffee cup in one go. His voice is raw when he talks, “Huh.”

It’s strange that in a moment like this, words don’t find him. He hasn’t pictured this situation ever before and if he had, it could hardly match the truth. These sort of encounters are considered rare, finding one’s soulmate is not a guarantee. Definitely not a promise. Keith is curious. About Shiro and who he truly is, how the hell did he find Keith’s cabin and knew his soulmate would be there.

“I like your little place,” Shiro says then when the silence has gone on for too long again. He looks around, seemingly taking in his surroundings. Keith follows his gaze, wondering what Shiro actually thinks about it all. 

The cabin is technically only a one big room. It’s a well lived space and the furnishing is old and simple, perhaps from 20 to 30 years old. There’s lots of brown and green and wood -- wood everywhere. The ceiling, walls, flooring, they are all made of oakwood with tiny flaws in their structure, made with a well known, loved handprint.

The couch is ugly as hell and on the elderly side as well, but it’s the most comfortable couch Keith has ever sat and slept on. His bed is on the other side of the room, unmade with three blankets and seven pillows with a childhood stuffed hippo leaning against them.There’s no proper bathroom, only a wash tub and outdoor toilet close to the border of the woods.

This cabin, home, is small and simple but _his_.

“Cozy,” Shiro decides after a moment. “Did you build this yourself?”

Keith shakes his head. “No, my Dad did, but he’s dead, so…”

“Ah.” Shiro smiles kindly, gaze wondering. “He did a great job,” he says after a short moment, searching Keith’s eyes, “but I’m sure you’ve made this place your own.”

Curious, how these are the words that make Keith flush beyond reason. “T-Thanks,” he chokes out, scrapes his neck with blunt nails, trying to distract himself from feeling so helpless, so _open_. He’s usually a blank canvas with new people.

“You’re welcome,” Shiro beams. His dimples flash briefly from their hiding as he looks at Keith who feels a little lightheaded, like he should lie down or something. 

There’s quietness after that, all the known words stay tangled in Keith’s vocal cords. His hands shake as he pours cream into his coffee cup, just to do _something _. He feels really needy for some reason, so he closes his eyes against the lightness of Shiro’s grin.__

__“Are you alright?”_ _

__Shit. It must have been minutes without words between them. Keith opens his eyes._ _

__“Yeah, sorry,” he says. He shrugs. “This is just… It’s a lot.”_ _

__“I know,” Shiro says. He’s so kind. Gentle. He’s Keith’s _soulmate_. The one his Mark yearns for. The one person just for him._ _

__Strange, how the world can be so predictable yet utterly surprising._ _

__“Yeah,” Keith says back, trying to hold back a cringe. “How did you find me?” he asks, the question that’s been on the tip of his tongue over an hour._ _

__“This will sound very, very stupid and cliched,” Shiro answers, “but I dreamt of you.”_ _

__Keith frowns. “What do you mean?”_ _

__Shiro sighs. He puts down his coffee mug and reaches over the table for the creamer. It spills over the rim as he pours it into his drink. He has very long arms. The other one is a silver prosthetic, he notices._ _

__“So, “Shiro begins, “for a few weeks or so I’ve seen these very strange, life like dreams. I usually didn’t remember them in the mornings, only glimpses and _feelings_ , so I can’t tell for sure what happened in them. I knew, they were real, though. It’s hard to describe why, exactly. Half the time I woke up, I wasn’t sure --” Shiro takes a deep breath and releases it slowly._ _

__“Sorry, it’s really hard to explain. Anyway, I figured out quickly enough that they’re not dreams, they’re my soulmates’ memories. _Your_ memories.”_ _

__There’s a prominent pause. Keith’s lungs don’t work. “And then what?”_ _

__Shiro grins. “I talked to my grandmother who offered _very_ little advice.” He rolls his eyes, seeming fond beyond reason. “Just a general ‘follow your heart, Takashi’ and no other help whatsoever as I’m sure you can imagine.”_ _

__Keith smiles, just a little, even if he never knew his own grandparents. “What did you do after that?”_ _

__“Then I took my older brother’s car and drove over here to find you,” Shiro says, as if it’s that simple._ _

__Keith frowns. “That can’t be right,” he demands, a little more forcefully than he intended._ _

__The grin he gets leaves his cheeks aflame._ _

__“You’re right,” Shiro allows. His voice is warm like coffee. “But you look fucking exhausted and I’m rather tired, as well, to be completely honest. It’s,” he squints at the wall clock, “two o’clock in the middle of the night, so maybe we could speak about all of this in the morning after both of us are well rested and you’ve had some time to digest all of this.” He waves his hands in a vague motion._ _

__Then Shiro drinks down the rest of the coffee and gets up from his chair, maybe to take it to the kitchen sink, but Keith stops him with his arm._ _

__“What? Wait --” Keith tries, almost outraged at Shiro’s dismissal, but is surprised into silence as Shiro circles the table and presses a very slight kiss to his forehead. A seal that makes Keith’s Mark preen with happiness, the ache melting away to make room for the joy. It’s a weird feeling, maybe indescribable, even._ _

__“In the morning, Keith,” Shiro says again. Keith doesn’t know if Shiro felt any similarly to himself, like a puzzle seeking for the final piece to complete itself, found it at last._ _

__Keith shivers._ _

__This shit’s every bit as cliched as he thought._ _

__

____

**iii.**

At first, when Shiro takes off that red sweater of his, Keith doesn’t look. When Shiro takes off his shirt, Keith just coughs into his fist and turns over. He drops his eyes down to his frayed socks and bites his knuckle to distract himself. Shit.

Shiro hums under his breath, a Christmas song without a tune or grace, as Keith hears him kicking off his boots behind his back. Keith closes his eyes, breathes in and counts seconds but curiosity has always been in his nature. Perhaps temptation, as well.

So he peeks over his shoulder, trying to be as discreet as possible, trying not to feel too guilty. He doesn’t gasp aloud but his eyes do widen, slightly. He can’t look away.

Because Shiro’s beautiful in a way absolutely no one should be allowed to be. He’s both muscled and scarred beyond reason, the combination so attractive it ceases the air in Keith’s breath. His other arm is the fine prosthetic, silver and a little deadly looking, but it doesn’t shock Keith -- everyone has some kind of past.

Shiro’s skin is jagged with white and red streaks of old hurt and it makes Keith _ill_ that something like this makes Shiro so hot to him. He feels stupid and cruel, but it’s more about just him wanting to pay his respects to Shiro, to Shiro’s body, for what he’s clearly been through. For how he has lived.

Keith wants to know anything and everything about him.

This thought is the one to make him finally gasp. Shiro startles at first, for having not noticed being watched. But after, he just grins widely at him under the floof of his hair before starting to slide the jeans down from his hips. Keith can feel himself grow wet, just a bit, so he clenches his thighs to keep a hold of himself. He licks his lips and starts preparing the bed for them, moves his hippo to the bedside table and arranges the pillows to accommodate Shiro’s size.

He’s embarrassed as fuck.

Shiro suggested that he’d sleep on the couch at first but Keith might have lied and told him it’s very uncomfortable to spend the night in. He’s spent countless nights on that couch and it’s almost better to sleep in it than his own bed.

He just has this foolish, sweet idea of Shiro holding him through the night to keep out the cold.

“So, we’re going to share the bed, huh?”

Keith jumps a little and turns to glare at Shiro who just smiles charmingly at him, no smugness in sight. He’s only in his underwear, in black boxer briefs that leave absolutely _nothing_ for imagination. Keith keeps his gaze on Shiro’s eyes, though, to avoid spontaneously combusting apart.

“Yeah,” Keith says, hugging one of the bed pillows into his chest, feeling strangely anxious, “it’s big enough for two, I guess.”

Shiro tilts his head. “Maybe one Keith and a split Shiro,” he says, looking equally parts awkward and adorable. “Are you sure about this? I honestly don’t mind taking the couch.”

“No!” Keith says hurriedly and practically scrambles under the bed covers and makes himself as small as possible against the wall, shoving a few pillows on the floor. “It’s fine, there’s plenty of room for both of us.”

There’s not. There’s really not enough room for Keith and this giant soulmate of his.

“If you say so,” Shiro says, voice slow and somehow hot, as he climbs behind Keith into the bed, straight into Keith’s personal space. He smells nice. Kind of like the woods and sweat with a mix of faded scent of cologne.

“Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?” Shiro asks as he’s getting more comfortable, moving around pillows and blankets to make more space for himself. When Keith just looks at him blankly, he raises his eyebrows with a significant look and Keith realises he’s still wearing his sweater and jeans and is already feeling quite warm underneath all the blankets.

“Oh. Y-yeah.”

It takes some manner of acrobatics for him to take off his pants and socks under the blankets without touching Shiro but he succeeds in the end. He keeps his sweater on, though, like he always does when he sleeps and not entirely because of the coldness creeping to his bones during the nights.

Keith looks at Shiro afterwards, but he is only looking at the ceiling with a reverted gaze, giving him privacy. Something bangs in Keith’s chest. Gratitude or disappointment, he’s not entirely sure. Silly, nevertheless. To be like Shiro, to be so comfortable to show one’s body to others. Yet he’s not ashamed of himself, never has been, and he knows he would’ve let Shiro look.

Keith turns to his side to face Shiro who does the same. The night lamp is still on so Keith sees him through the haze of darkness.

“Good night, Shiro,” he murmurs.

Shiro only watches him. They are almost entirely pressed against each other because of Keith’s small bed, just a blanket between their bodies, to stop them from touching. But still, they feel each other’s breath against each other’s skin.

How strange that they have known each other for two hours at most, when Keith feels like he’s known Shiro forever, since the beginning of time. Perhaps that’s the point of soulmates, they’ve been connected and tied to each other since they were born. Their souls are familiar with each other.

Shiro moves his hand from beneath the covers but hesitates before touching.

“May I?” he asks and Keith fucking aches, again. In a different way than before. This is not his Mark yearning for his soulmate, this is Keith himself.

“Yeah,” he whispers back and Shiro caresses his face with his knuckles and strokes them down from Keith’s brow to his cheek.

“I’m so glad I finally found you,” Shiro says, quiet yet serious. Keith shivers from the words, can’t quite help it.

Despite everything, he is glad, too.

“Good night, Keith.”

**iv.**

Keith wakes up during an early hour of the morning, so hot he can barely stand it. His eyes are very lazy opening up because of heavy sleep, but Keith quickly realises something is not right.

He’s sleeping against Shiro chest, his mouth on Shiro’s sweaty neck and Shiro thick arms around him, keeping him safe from the cold. Keith appreciates it. Or rather, he appreciates having Shiro this close to him. It’s strange.

He’s afraid to move, doesn’t want to wake up Shiro, doesn’t want to end this moment. He feels like he’s possessed. Possessed for wanting to be held like this by a stranger -- even if Shiro is his soulmate, he doesn’t really know him. It’s a little fucked up.

Keith’s lips are dry. When he licks them, he tastes the salt and musk of Shiro’s damp skin. He feels dizzy and so he licks again. And again and again. It’s an addicting taste and he can’t help himself, he’s light headed and aroused and doesn’t notice Shiro’s breathing getting broken and quick under his mouth.

“Keith…”

The raspy voice makes him stop. Shit.

“Fuck. Sorry,” Keith says quickly, yet his face is still buried against Shiro’s neck, “I’m sorry, I just --”

He can’t find an excuse. He can’t look Shiro in the eyes. He’s paralyzed with fear and shame. And still, he wants more.

“It’s okay,” Shiro answers quietly. His voice is shaky and his arms tighten around Keith, not letting Keith escape. “You… you can. If you want to.”

“Yeah?” Keith whispers and closes his eyes. He’s embarrassed as fuck, yet he’s not above doing this. He’s never been above of doing what he wants.

“Yeah,” Shiro murmurs, “whatever you want, you have me. You always will.”

A brave vow that Keith finds himself valuing. They don’t even know each other, yet already Shiro offers it to him. He might as well promise him the entire fucking world.

This name is only a breath: “Shiro.”

**v.**

They kiss.

They kiss for a long time before Shiro asks gently, quietly, “Are you comfortable with --”

“Yeah,” Keith breathes out, his cheeks warm and possibly red and wetness insistent between his thighs. He touches Shiro’s temple with the back of his knuckles and slides them all the way down to the corner of Shiro’s lips. They’re chapped yet soft as fluff. They’re smiling. They kiss the tip of Keith’s thumb. They are real as they meet Keith’s own again.

“Please,” he adds, voice shaking the tiniest bit. _”Shiro”,_ he sighs, the name already familiar, feeling overwhelmed about this man who’s kissing the curve of his neck in slow motion, about this man who is his soulmate. Who would’ve fucking thought. It already seems like they’ve known each other forever. Maybe they were always meant to be written in the stars, Keith thinks, hazy and sweet, a cliche he would never admit aloud even on his deathbed.

“Keith,” Shiro says back, in wonder and amazement, his calloused, yet soft, hand gliding across Keith’s stomach to the hem of his night shorts, finger nail tracing it.

“Okay?” he asks one more time, eyes hesitant and tender, waiting for a permission even if doesn’t need one. And Keith sighs and rolls his eyes, but his lips curve. What a gentle man the universe has chosen for him.

He didn’t believe in all of this but at least something about it, is true.

It’s this:

This man, Takashi Shirogane, was made to be his.

Shiro slides his warm, human finger inside Keith where he’s wet and molten, a different kind of ache than before. He’s a gentle man, Keith knew it already from the memories he saw but this is different. One could call it a hands down experience. The thought makes Keith grin to himself and immediately sigh afterwards as Shiro bends his fingers and kisses the crook of his neck, breathes in deeply before the road of Keith’s body makes their lips meet in the middle.

Keith gasps into Shiro’s mouth when he makes Keith’s toes curl with pleasure so intense Keith hasn’t experienced in a long while.

“Oh god,” Keith whines but Shiro doesn’t smirk, he just smiles and takes Keith’s hand to his own.

“Good?” he whispers as he pushes his fingers even deeper inside, slick sound of it embarrassing and filthy. Shiro’s thumb presses against the sensitive nub on the outer folds and Keith moans so loudly he feels like he could die. “Does it feel good, sweetheart?”

“You know it does, you fuck,” Keith snaps without thinking but Shiro just laughs, eye corners crinkling from delight as he keeps moving his fingers in an impressive, steady rhtyhmn.

“Baby,” Shiro whispers and it doesn’t take long for Keith to come after that, as one can expect.

It takes five minutes for him to calm down from his orgasm, another three to stop shaking on the inside, to breathe and come aware of his senses again. When he looks up to Shiro’s eyes, he’s smiling, sweet and gentle, in a way no one ever does for Keith.

Keith has to kiss him, so he does. He has never kissed anyone like Shiro before.

Then again, not one of those people he’s kissed, has been his _soulmate_.

Keith slides his fingers against Shiro’s hard stomach to his briefs. He’s very big, like he suspected earlier. Of course he is. Keith would kind of like to have him inside of him, but he decides to use his hand for now. There will be time for that later, Keith will make sure of it.

Shiro doesn’t protest his advances, he lets Keith explore his body with his fingers and mouth, just gasping and sighing into Keith’s nest of hair, as Keith strokes him to completion with silent murmurs of encouragement. 

Keith has foolish tears in his eyes afterwards, he can feel the dampness of his cheeks and thump of his heart. 

Yet -- yet, he feels invincible.

Because the truth of the matter is this:

“I was made to love you.”

Shiro says it kindly, like it’s so very simple. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Maybe it is for Shiro. Keith has never been sure of that. Of all of this. He didn’t believe in shit like this, before his Mark started acting up and brought Shiro to his door.

“Some day,” Shiro continues quietly during this moment, like a private vow between two people, “I’ll love you so much, I have no words for it.”

It’s so _much_. Shiro is so full of trust for himself. It makes Keith want to cry, just because his Mark knows it’s the realest truth. He’s impossibly full of something no one has no name for.

Shiro doesn’t expect a reply or doesn’t even need one which is good because Keith has absolutely none to give. He’s scared to say words he means too much, scared to make promises he knows he’s going to keep. He doesn’t know how to say things like that aloud without seeming too intense.

But in the hours they’ve known, Keith has thought that Shiro seems to be the most honest man he has ever met.

It makes him brave.

So, this is what Keith whisper to the world, quiet and hidden by the roar in his ears:

“I can’t wait.”

*

In the morning Shiro has found ingredients for pancakes and they cook them together, or rather, Keith cooks them and Shiro watches him do it intensively, sometimes kissing his neck and other times chatting idly.

They eat.

Then they talk.

And Keith knows, he just _knows_ , there will always be other mornings like this.

**Author's Note:**

> You can come say hi in twitter @vilnakristiina :-)


End file.
